The Baths
by slothqueen
Summary: AU where Griffith and Charlotte weren't seen by the maid that night when Guts left. Enjoy:) and please, show a little forbearance. English is not my mother tongue.
1. The Baths

„The baths in the barrack is the unusual place. From disgusting, cold and wet hole it can immediately turn into the place you could not resist to hang out".

Casca slowly stand up, and move her hand over the pile of stones with pleasure. She felt the nice warmth radiating from it, and she blown into the fire once again, more to celebrate the success in stoking the furnace than to maintain the ember. The furnace was burning correctly. Finally, Casca could take a bath.

She had to plan it precisely; live her bed early enough, to have this place on her own. Her company rather preferred to hang out there at evenings, drinking and arguing, but she didn't liked to share that moments with them. Of course, she feared her boys not – she knew how to snap their heads off or scoff, even how to paste them, but she felt certain shame when she had to accompany them naked. She was quite jealous of their bigger and stronger bodies, and complete lack of complexes. She enjoyed her bath the most, when it was the tranquil moment of relax, moment only for her. When she didn't have to prove that even if she's a woman she is not worse than the rest of Hawks. She loved to being alone with her feminity to celebrate it.

Slowly, without any rush, she took off her nightgown and underwear, and she put it on the highest ledge hanging under the ceilig – this way, when she'll put them on again, she'll still feel this delightful warmth of baths. She reached for the bucket of freezing cold water, and she poured the hot pile of stones. Clouds of steam spread over the furnace and filled the whole little baths in one moment. Casca took a few deep breaths, as she grab the bucket once again. "This momet shall be the worse", she thought. She hold her breath, and tip the bucket over her head.

OOOOUCH!

Casca groaned silently, when the cold water drained down her naked body. After a moment, when she had already shook off, she started to scrub her wet skin with a soft brush. Slow strokes caressed her shoulders and back pleasantly.

"I wonder where he is".

Now, when she had a few moments only for her, she reminded of her yesterday concerns. Griffith hadn't appeared at yesterday's lunch, nor dinner. He didn't even visit the cantina, where soldiers used to gather for gossips over the pit of beer, or various games or brawls. Casca even checked out his office, by peeping through the keyhole just before she retired. It had happened sometimes, that Griffith was completely losing himself into work or reading curious-only-for-him writings, and hadn't made any signs of life for a days, only sitting near his bureau and enjoying the lecture.

But, whatever, this time Casca found his office empty, and the last idea where he could possibly been disappeared from her head. No, she wasn't terribly concerned about him – Griffith had proved many times, that no matter how bad his situation looks, he always comes out of it victorious. He had been poisoned, shot with a crossbow or kidnapped several times, but after a while he had always appear among the Hawks with no damage, with his innocent, childish smile on the face. Today Casca was quite sure that also this time he will come back soon, safe and unhurt, smiling apologetically and excusing himself. Even then she could still feel some anxiety of him.

Knock-Knock.

- Occupied! – she yelled, suddenly upset. It looked like her idea of morning bath was not only her own, ad had some amateurs also among rest of Hawks. She was disappointed when thinking that her perfect way to spend some time all alone was no longer reliable.

- Casca – the heart in girl's chest fluttered. It was Griffith! Her beloved leader came back to her safely once more. As she suspected, he hadn't disappointed her also this time – shall I join you?

- Hmm, sure, come in – respond Casca, pouring her head with water from the bucket. She wasn't ever ashamed with taking a bath in the company of Griffith, so they had often been doing. The lack of Griffith's interest into her body had certain benefits, she thought with the bitter smile.

The doors of baths creaked, and Griffith came in. Casca took a look of him and she immediately knew that Griffith were gone for that long not because of his work of commander nor his liabilities on court.

Griffith was making an impression of totally tired and battered man. His white locks of hair, usually bounded into fine ponytail, now were hanging around on all sides, and his forelock was bizarrely crooked up. Single locks was glued to his reddened cheeks and neck. His elegant, long jacket was wet and dirty with mud, so as his normally perfect polished boots. He was hunching himself, and rubbing his arms incessantly, with a slightly absent gaze and a clay cup in his hand.

- Hey- Casca moved a bit closer to him on the bench – what was happen? Why did you disappear for that long? I was worried about you. And boys did so. I was wondering, if you…

Griffith appeared not to hear her. He took off slowly his wet clothing, sat down on the bench nearby the furnace and reached in the direction of the bucket. After a moment he held his hand back anyway, and grab the cup. Casca suddenly noticed, that he's trembling.

-Hey… - she repeated, this time softer and quieter. She moved to him once again, and put the hand onto her commander's hunched shoulder – Griffith, what's wrong?

She took a stroke of his hair, pushing salient locks away from his face. When she tried to put them behind his ear, she noticed the dim stripe on his right shoulder. She put her hand there, and squeezed the place slightly. Griffith took a few sips from the cup, and put it away. He exhaled spasmodically.

- It's so tiring – he said quietly – so… frivolous. And unsure. I was thinking that I made my mind clear. That I put lucrative conditions. I was righteous, when three years ago I won that duel with him. I even facilitated it to him. I didn't want to conquer him with a deception, I was playing fair. And then, suddenly… Behind my back…

Casca realized, that Griffith's hands are continually moving for some time. She looked down, and groaned quietly. His forearms were covered with red scratches, and small spots of blood blooming among them. "Just like years ago", she thought. Just like after that night, when she found him in the brook, passionately scrubbing his body to wash down the memories of that bastard, calling himself the Baron.

She reached for his hands rapidly, and forced them to her mouth, covering them with soothing kisses. She looked into his eyes, still completely empty.

- Please, don't. – she whispered – You're hurting yourself.

Slowly and carefully, she put his hands on her waist, and pressed them down with her own elbows, to prevent him for moving them out. He wasn't struggling. He leaned his head down on Casca's shoulder, and sighed once more.

- I miss him too – whispered Casca – I saw you guys were pretty... close to each other. You trusted him, didn't you?

Griffith stayed silent for a while, and then he respond slowly with the dead voice:

- Guts was fighting under me for many years. So many years I put into training him, educating him. It was like to find a diamond in mud, and grind it with my own hands. He would be nobody without me. The Band of Hawk is a precious, gold ring to me, and Guts was the gem. But… though the years of wearing, admiration in people's eyes, and my only rights to him about which he known… The gem fell out of my ring, and rolled into the gutter. When I tried to pick it up – his body tensed, so Casca hugged him a bit tighter to sooth his trembling – it cut my finger. Tell me, why should I miss this frivolous gem if I still have my good old ring, so fit to my hand?

Casca felt hot streams running down her shoulder, and dripping from breasts. She released carefully one of Griffith's hands, and caressed his head gently.

- I must continually get injured on the way of little stones, Casca. My hands are bleeding from grasping this gravel again and again, because I know, that if I only dare to close my eyes for a second… To cross my arms, to take a rest… The gravel will come down and bury me. All these small stones, rolling from under my feet and hands... They come down so often.

- Hush, don't cry – whispered Casca, still rocking Griffith's head gently on her shoulder, and stroking his shivering arms. She realized now, and wondered for a moment, why she did that late, how small and slender Griffith's silhouette was. His fabulous, bright jackets, often trimmed with gold or silver, his white cloaks snapping in the wind, and his shining armor was making him look like an untouchable monument, but without these solicitously selected robes he looked almost like a child, a bit too thin, a bit awkward, with protruding ribs and skinny legs. Casca smiled sadly – for her, anyway, he has always been the most beautiful being in the world, regardless of anything.

- Casca – Griffith's voice was a little bit hoarse, but didn't betrayed recent tears – please, wash me. I'm too tired for it now.


	2. Afternoon

OK, I changed my mind, I'm gonna continue "The Baths" :) moreover, now I plan it for about four chapters, so you have something to wait for! This one is quite short, but my anatomy exams drew near, so I can't afford long writing... Hope you gonna like it!

* * *

When Casca get out of the Griffith's office, her heart was still pounding. The wild happiness and certain sadness were swirling inside her so substantially, that she had to lean against the cold wall to prevent her from fall.

- Oh – she moaned, and supported her heavy head with the hand – I'm such a whore. Soo much fucking whore. I wish I will never meet somebody like me on my way.

Anyway, her lips were still smiling. And heart pounding, and a light chuckle was trying to get out of her chest. She was satisfied as hell, as she was never before. The sadness seemed to fading away, to left her drunk with glee. She just had spent the most anticipated noon of her whole life; lying with her commander on the couch, and comforting him. Stroking him. Caressing him… His condition didn't improved since their bath, so she felt obliged to escort him to his room, put him into bed and take care of him. Griffith seemed to be still deeply shocked and anxious, and definitely incapable to take any rest (that he obviously needed), but Casca managed to get him sleep with some laudanum. The view of him sleeping peacefully affected her, and – after ensured herself that he's asleep – Casca did something she always wanted to do; put the long, forbidden kiss on Griffith's lips, still bittersweet from the drink.

Then, she brushed his damp hair and wrapped him tight into the thick blanket. She still didn't know, where he had been whole last night, but she realized with a wonder, that she didn't care at all. Now they were close to each other like never, physically and emotionally, and only that mattered for her that time. She was allowed to touch him with no limits, to hug him and… even more, if she only wish for. That was unbelievable. "Not now", she thought with a light excitement, while stroking his soft face. "Not now. He must take some rest. After all, he hadn't sleep whole night… I mustn't be that selfish".

- Casca… - she nearly jumped, when the silent whisper reach her ears. She looked down on Griffith's pale face, still unconscious, but a bit sorrowful now – bring… him… back.

-Um, Griffith? – she spoke quickly with some embarrassment - are you okay? Want something?

But her commander remain silent. She exhaled with relief.

* * *

She felt guilty. Very much. But on the other hand, was it her fault to be loyal and concern about the man who once had saved her life, and taught how to use a sword? She felt, that since now she can serve Griffith not only with the sword. She can treat him like a wife treats her husband. She smiled faintly, after reminiscent their time together, and turn staggering to go…

- Hey Cass – the arriving Judeau's smiling face had never scared her more than then – is Griffith back yet?... Oh, stupid me. Of course he's back, nevertheless you just came out of his room. What stopped him out for that long? – he smiled with mischievous manner – Was he chasing our rioter? I wouldn't get on such a sacrifice while the weather is that horrible…

- Stop it – Casca dropped her eyes, and her cheeks reddened – it's not funny.

Judeau's eyes widened with disbelief.

- You're kidding me. He hadn't done that, has he?

- He hadn't.

- Oh, what a relief. I started to worry that he could catch a cold…

- Shut up! – Casca growled, and push his arm out of her way with irritation. She turned to leave, when Judeau caught her hand and forced her to stay.

- Sorry Cass – he apologized, and put his free hand awkwardly behind his head – I didn't meant that. I just wanted to see you smile. You're too serious and too concerned about everything… And it's so uncomfortable to me seeing you that worried. Take it easy girl. Griffith is the White Phoenix Army's general, he can manage with his problems. And Guts is a Hundred Man Slayer, he will survive everything everywhere – he smiled unsteadily, waiting for her reaction. Casca sighted loudly, and smiled artificially.

- You're right, Judeau. I care too much. Completely unnecessarily. Think that I'm just a little… sad, after Guts left. I miss him, just like we all do, don't we?

Judeau looked at her with a strange spark in his eyes. Something like "I suspected that". He smiled a bit wider.

- I'm going to have some lunch now, I'm starving. Care to join me?

Casca definitely didn't, but Judeau's kindness make her incapable to refuse.

-Ok, why not?

During the way to the cantina, Casca reminiscent Griffith's somnolent wish. She even wondered for a while, if she's gonna obey. After all, she really wanted to make Griffith happy. She always did. It was the most genuine and basic goal in her life, and now she has a great opportunity to prove it… but. She was never as important to Griffith as Guts was. She used to hate him for that. She realized, that if Guts hadn't left, she would have never get so close to Griffith again. Griffith always seemed to prefer him over Casca, although Guts was far less loyal, less mindful than her. He seemed to treat Guts like… a friend. Not subordinate, like her. Not his right hand. A friend.

She clenched her teeth. She won't do that. She accustomed to Guts, maybe even started to like him in some way. But Guts can't join them back, regardless of how sorrowful and depressed is Griffith now. Casca'd love to see him happy and tranquil again, but her mind was already made up. She won't obey her dear commander's order, maybe first time ever.


	3. Morning

It was still dark and silent outside the window, when the pair of blue eyes snapped open. Griffith gasped quietly in confusion, looking around the dark room, with just one clear idea floating in his head.

_- Farewell – says a man from behind his back._

He tried to sit up in his bed too fast; his mind was still quite fuddled, and struggle with the blanket, wrapped tight around his arms and waist, proved to be too difficult for one try. His head was oddly heavy, and heartbeat slow and loud after that laudanum-induced slumber. Some strange thoughts were drifting through his mind, when his body was trying not to fall down on bed again. _Why he decided to left me? The man I shared my dream with… betrayed it. Betrayed me! It's unfair. He must be back. Soon. _He wasn't sure initially, of whom those thoughts were, but they seemed familiar to him, although it took some time to sort them out. When he finally dealt with getting up from the bed, Griffith already recalled last days, but – in spite of suspicions – he felt no longer earlier despair, echoes of which were still pounding in his head. Only the comfortably, warm numb, instead of… instead of everything. He smiled faintly, and thanked Casca in mind for putting on the tincture. After a few sips of highly watered-down wine, left (probably by Casca too) beside his bed, he staggered toward the window, and relied his head against the cold glass, staring into the darkness with murky sight. The touch of window felt so good, that he changed the place of support several times, just to keep it cool.

"Guts", he reminiscent man's name. His best champion, his assassin, his bodyguard. Was gone now, after broking his master's sword. Without a word, despite of "Farewell". Griffith raised his hand to the chest, and felt his heart accelerated a little.

- Guts – he whispered – didn't you believe in my dream too? Weren't you happy seeing it comes truth? We were a step away from it.

This small thing he hadn't predict, small thing that slipped out of his hand. "We". The dream was hard to get from the beginning, but now it required a lot more than formerly. Intrigues. Murders. Secrets. With Guts by his side, it was easier – he could keep an illusion of the nobleman, gentle and high – minded, while the blood was soiling other pair of hands. It was… pleasant. But, people tend to become dependent of pleasant things and support of others. He couldn't remember, if he realized it two days, two months or two years ago, but his dream was no longer only his own. He shared it. His work, his passion, his whole life was also Gut's contribution now. Griffith found it unusual and wrong, but his dream involved now a new element; somebody to support the dreamer. A trustee.

"It wasn't even that bad", he thought bitterly, "till he was fair and supported my dream, like he once swore. When he left, everything faltered. Everything became in danger…". His fingers started to scratch forearms unconsciously. He did something stupid that night. Bona fide, but at least it turn out a mistake.

"Princess Charlotte." Yes, he recalled some blurred memories from his visit at the palace. Sneaking at night into the garden, then climbing up the tree and knocking on her chamber's window... And then her fine frame, hanged on his wet coat's flap, sobbing and moaning and confessing her affection toward him. Griffith felt that corners of his mouth twitched. How ridiculous she looked then, a spoilt noble girl raised on fairytales about beautiful prince, who'd risk everything just to make her happy. Who'll love her and take care of her, lady of his heart.

He picked up the gauntlet, as her goals were concurrent. It was quite interesting, playing that role-play game into knight and his damsel. Honestly, she was the princess of his dreams, nevertheless he didn't love her. Better to say; princess of his dream. His dream required her, and she didn't hinder, didn't even demand redundant actions from him to make her belong to him. Roleplaying was enough.

Memories about fucking her were also ridiculous and unreal. Just another roleplay. When he'd been standing outside her window, he hoped to feel some… satisfaction by conquering succeeding parts of his dream. By feeling independence from that unruly piece of it, and, on the other hand, by simply indulging himself. It was nothing. All of that comforting feelings he craved turned out fake. He hadn't feel any relief nor control, he hadn't even come. Now he felt only disgust.

"Guts, do you think me a dreadful man?", he asked Guts once. It was fresh after Guts killed a considerable group of people, according to his order. Guts denied than, and told him that he should follow his dream, as long as he puts faith into it. Now he was wandering about that words again. That girl, even if silly and spoilt, love him, and his cheating on her continually since first day they met seemed nasty. Griffith was aware of necessary sacrifices his dream need, but…

- He must be back – he said calmly. He didn't know, why Guts. Why exactly him, from all of his captains, from whole Band of Hawk, become essential for his dream. Why not Casca, loyal, faithful and caring like no one, why not Judeau, natural leader, far smarter and more gifted than Guts? Griffith walked away from the window slowly. It took him nearly two days and two nights, and he still couldn't figure it out. Enough of wondering, time to pull things together.

* * *

The morning was freezing cold, as he was saddling his horse in front of the stable, dressed in simple clothes he used to wear as a mercenary, and a grey woolen cloak. It felt strange after a month of courtly life, brushing horse's dirty flanks and teeth-chattering. Normally, court pages would do it for him, but this time he was too hurry, and… ashamed somehow, of the thing he was planning. Blowing clouds of steam from his nostrils, he flipped his leg over the steed's back, and spurred it violently to run. Guts mustn't move away a lot, especially for a horseman.


	4. Noon (reunion)

Casca knocked on the door once more, and chewed her lower lip.

- Griffith… are you all right? – she asked again, with an insecurity in her voice, and heard back only silence. She reached for the handle with a hesitation. "If there's something wrong with him because of me…" – she thought, and pressed the handle down. She was waiting for this moment all sleepless night long, and now… she was consumed by fear. It was too easy, after so many years, to get that close to that unreachable White Hawk. It was much too wonderful to be real. Something must have gone wrong.

She opened the door, and her sight circled the room, stopping for a moment on empty bed. Her heart sank.

- Relax – she encouraged herself quietly, closing the door – he might got up earlier…

She went towards the baths, in hope that it's unoccupied still (or by Griffith only). Her hands was shivering a little, and Casca thought that maybe the bath is the best way for her to chill out a bit. Nevertheless, Judeau was right in several cases. She was definitely too concerned. She put her left hand under her breasts, and felt the fluttering heart. Just like when she was twelve, and Griffith was teaching her how to wield a sword. Or reload the crossbow. Or ride a horse. Many years gone by and she learned how to suppress her feelings, but now… the life gave her a chance, and her heart was fluttering again.

- Um… Rickert! – Casca spotted the youngest Hawk at the end of corridor, probably returning from morning exercises, with the crossbow on his shoulder and hair ruffled by wind – did you saw Griffith today? We… - she paused with an embarrassment – He… ordered me to…

- I don't know, Casca – said Rickert without stopping – perhaps he left early in the morning, Hawkeye's not at the stable.

And Casca's heart sank second time this day, although it was freshly noon.

* * *

Griffith drew the reins in, and his steed slowed down from gallop to easy trot. He smiled with a satisfaction, and kept following the narrow column of smoke that he spotted about an hour ago, looking for its source between the trees. "The day is still young. Perhaps he's sleeping still… Very well. I'll get him off the guard".

A few meters before him, there was a small lea surrounded by thorn-trees. He approached to the save distance, and saw the dying campfire in the middle of it… and a sleeping bag beside, bloated on a wide frame of muscular dark-haired man, curled up in fetal position with the rolled up cloak under his head. And a fabulous-sized two-handed sword beside. Griffith's heartbeat accelerate. He dismounted carefully, and get around the lea to find the entrance between bushes. His right hand slowly reached for an one-handed sword, taken as a replacement for the broken sabre. "That would be easy. Just get near, and put the sword against his neck… No, don't hurt him. Just ask him back…". His heart was pounding like mad, when he was sneaking to his prey, clenching fingers on the sword hilt. Wait, the prey? The precious gem, the trustee, the right hand! His glistening eyes were roaming between Guts' sleeping frame, and the giant sword, stuck into the ground a few steps away from him. "Unarmed! He won't reach it. He won't have any choice; I'll force him to follow, with this sleazy blade only. I won't need anything more to have him back! The dream would be on track again, at least!". His hand was shivering slightly, when he was reaching the unprotected neck… too distant, the sword is too short, he must come closer. A few steps more, just two or three…

Griffith's eyes narrowed, when he glimpsed the flash of cold steel as the massive hand stroked him down on the ground before even he could even do the grunt of surprise.

- Gotcha, ye mutherfuckers! Next time you'll think two times before… – Guts jumped over him and pinned Griffith's unready frame down to the ground gustily with triumphal exclamation, but his voice paused with a sudden amazement, when their eyes met, and his other hand, clenched in fist, froze above his head – Gri… Griffith!

He jumped off even faster, with kind of terror in his eyes. Griffith sat up on the grass, still not sure, what had just happened, but the pain in his chest guided him quickly on a trail. He pulled out the dagger from between his ribs involuntarily, and saw the glistening red stain blooming across his shirt like an odd growing red mere. He touched it with gentle wonder, feeling the warm, sticky blood flooding through his fingers profusely, while his other hand was still wielding his own blade. When he rose his eyes up, he saw how the fear gives way to surprise, indigation and anger upon Guts' face, and all of them fight fierce battle there. It looked so heartwarming and funny! Griffith felt like he haven't ever been mad on him. He smiled cheerfully, showing up all of his teeth.

- Good morning, Guts. How do you do?... – and the sudden fit of nasty cough made him bend in half. When he already got his breath back, his other hand and chin appeared picturesquely bloodied.

- Griffith, what… why… ah, whatever! – Guts got up finally with a furious growl, turned away and spat – Hope that your horse had some time for repose before you tried to… do whatever it's meant to be to me, because if not, it may not survive this ride. Damn you and your freaky ideas, you stubborn piece of… - but Griffith couldn't understand rest of insults Guts was calling him, because his would-be murderer walked away too fast, towards the place where Hawkeye, Griffith's white horse, was browsing the grass quietly and totally unaware.

- Come on, dude – snarled Guts, grabbing the reins and pulling them roughly in Griffith's direction – we've got some little business you have to help with…

- Guts, stop – gasped Griffith heavily, but it was too quiet for horse-struggling Guts to hear.

Hawkeye put its ears back, and neighed defiantly. It didn't used to be treated like this, and seemed to be dissatisfied with the changes. Guts cursed.

- Dammit! Come on, idiot – he hissed, and pulled it stronger. The horse snorted with contempt, jibbed and jerked reins out of Guts' hands with one shake of silver-mane head. It looked on Guts with frightened gaze of brown eyes, and turn to flee.

Griffith put two fingers in mouth and tried to whistle, but it led him only to another fit of cough. Guts tried to chase the horse, but it was futile try. He came back quickly, with a look of surrender on his face.

- No wonder, Guts – whispered Griffith with an effort – It wouldn't obey you. I rose Hawkeye from a filly and it was never ridden by anyone but me. – Guts accepted it with a resentful shrug. His eyes were focused on the huge red stain on Griffith's chest. It was spreading still.

- Show it – he said, and knelt by Griffith's blood-soaked side. After tucking his shirt up, he revealed a narrow, but bleeding profusely wound. Guts frowned, and sighed heavily.

- No good. To be honest, it's pretty fucked up. Be happy you're still here, it might have perforated your heart…

- I'm happy, Guts. – Guts raised his head, surprised. Griffith, now a bit pale, was still smiling kindly. He didn't seemed to be injured at all. He reached for Guts' face, and touched his cheek – I'm so happy to see you again, and still waiting for an answer; how do you… - he paused suddenly, and expectorated another portion of blood on the green grass -… do? Sorry for this, I know it's disgusting.

Guts' face tensed again, but after a while he burst with a nervous laughter.

- Griffith, you're totally weirdo. Only you can talk to me like this with a fuckin' lethal wound between the ribs, a while after you tried to fuckin' kill me – he stand up, rubbing his face in troubled gesture – By the way, your scout skills suck.

* * *

Griffith was lying down on the ground, watching Guts breaking his little camp in hurry and coughing from time to time. His chest was tied closely with the strips made of Guts' shirt, but this poor bandage did just a small improvement. "It may keep you alive an hour or two longer", like Guts had just said. He felt dizzy and his lungs sore, but… Griffith felt happy. He get, what he wanted. Again. The ability of forthcoming death seemed totally distant now, with Guts near.

When the camp was already tied up, Guts approached to his ex-commander, and helped him up. He was staring at Griffith for a moment, and shook his head.

- You can't walk. Even if you won't bleed to death, what I doubt, you'll slow us down as hell... and still finally bleed to death.

Then he turn back, ad bend himself down, pulling the giant sword by the side.

- Come on, we're hurry. If I don't want to be gibbeted for murdering the White Phoenix Army's general, you should be alive at least till tomorrow.

Griffith got hold of Guts' neck clumsy, and put head over his shoulder. Suddenly he realized, how cold was his body in comparison with Guts; he must have lost a lot of blood. Guts grabbed his legs, and put them on hips. His back was still bent as he get moving, probably to spare Griffith an effort.

- Don't even try to sleep, by the way – he muttered, heading for the rising sun – if I'll catch you on it, I swear I'll wake you up with another stab.


	5. Evening

I swear that next chapter will be last : Short-writing was never my strong point.

* * *

- Whoa! Easy, easy! – Judeau felt the nasty shudder passing, as Casca's sword whizzed an inch away from his left ear. He dropped his weapon, and raised both hands in gesture of submission.

- Are you PMS-ing? – just in case, he took few steps back - You're definitely not in mood today.

He eyed her up and down – a couple of seconds ago he was sure that she's doing her best to kill him. Judeau wasn't mentioned it, when asking her for an evening sparing. He smiled unsurely, and bend down to pick the sword up. Casca stuck her blade in ground furiously, and wiped the forehead, quietly panting..

- Sorry. I… just… ah, nevermind! – she growled, and turned back, looking at a setting sun – You're too kind for me all the time, Judeau. It's pissing me off. Badly. Conquer me, give me a chance to lose, because now I don't feel that any of my win was serious. It's nasty.

- Oh well. You're Griffith's right hand – Judeau approached to Casca, but still to the save distance – no wonder that you always conquer me. You're a way better swordsman than me, remember that I'm just a juggler.

- Griffith's… right hand? - said Casca sadly - Then who was Guts to him?

She kicked her sword, and little lumps of earth scattered around as it fell down. Judeau felt certain relief, and came closer. He put his hand over Casca's arm hesitantly, and squeezed it slightly.

- So it's about them two again? – Casca nodded slowly, her eyes glistening. Judeau sighed.

- Griffith's gone for another whole day. The sun is setting, he should be back until now, and he isn't. Again. Who knows, where and for what he disappears?

- Casca – Judeau's voice betrayed gentle annoyance covered with pleasantness – I told you. He and Guts are both adult men, they are capable…

- You know nothing, Judeau, do you? – Casca's eyes were continually focused on a red sun - You're only a mercenary, and Griffith's only employer to you. He's giving you orders and money, and you see him conquering following battles, a couple of times you even cracked glasses with him. But you're generally wrong about him.

Judeau lifted an eyebrow with anticipative wonder.

- I'm in the Band of Hawk longer than you…

- And you still know nothing about Griffith. Tell me something about him, that not everyone else can tell me.

Judeau remained silent. Casca turned back to him, and smiled sadly.

- I need him by my side, Judeau, and it's no secret to you, but he's too much a riddle to you to know, that he also needs me by his side, no matter, if he's aware or not. That's why I care that much. Whole Band of Hawk, you all don't care, because you can't imagine the burden he's carrying. You think he's composed, and don't think about the price he's paying. You're not interested into how he's dealing with people unfavorable to him, financial problems, arranging tactics for another battle. You think that he's just a brilliant boy who turns everything he touches in gold. But it's as hard for him, as it would be for you or me. He just clenches teeth and doing it. Do you imagine, going through this whole world without a single trustee?

Casca turned back, and hugged Judeau suddenly. He hummed with surprise, but reciprocate the hug.

- That would be easy, if Griffith was aware of it. But he… He chose Guts. I don't fucking know why, but he chose him as far back three years ago, as they first met. He chose Guts as his trustee, and… Judeau… I'm pretty sure that he won't submit Guts leaving. He longs for him, but Guts is not like me. He's a man, he's proud and selfish. He also knows nothing and doesn't care at all. He's… brave, and good, and I appreciate him as a friend, but… I hate him so much, for what he had done to Griffith. Why have he had to go?...

-… Casca! Miss Casca! – Casca jumped back from Judeau like burned, as they heard a young stage's calling. The teenage boy was running toward them, waving desperately, like he wasn't sure if they see him well. When he get close enough, he bend in long nod, panting.

- Speak, boy – said Casca a little much too low. Judeau smiled uderhand.

- Some merchant's people brought us a white horse – gasped boy – they said they found him on the north route, about four hours ago. On the saddle was an emblem of White Phoenix Army, and the horse is similar to the sir Griffith's one. The horse is already in the stable, can you tell me if it's sir Griffith's horse?

- Lead me – she ordered, and without waiting for still gasping boy, she started to run toward the stable. After a while boy joined her. Judeau stroked his hair, quietly, watching them running.

- Know nothing – he said thoughtfully – I know nothing…

* * *

The dusk fell suddenly, like it often does in mountains – the sun disappeared abruptly, hiding behind a snow-covered mountain top, and the darkness deluged the land.

- Well – gasped Guts, crossing a narrow brook carefully. His legs were trembling from all-day-long march, and he was trying his best not to think about the perspective of another hours of this torture – well though. If your sissy horse hadn't escaped, we would have to take a whole-night break now… nevertheless I'm a fuckin' man, I can see the ground under my feet after sundown.

He cleared his throat loudly. In fact, for a whole day he was talking to Griffith about everything that came into his mind, and asking him a thousand of meaningless questions just to keep him awake, so his throat was in rather poor condition now. But he didn't even think about taking a break for a sip of water from the brook – every second mattered. Every second might prejudge his nearest future; gallows, or rather unwanted publicity. Even if Griffith bounces back, the attack on him won't be forgotten easily. He'll probably be accused of high treason and imprisoned. Maybe rest of the Hawks would try to excuse him… Or maybe they'd blame him as well. Guts sighed heavily. He didn't crave… all this. All this mess.

- Casca will murder me – he murmured. He recalled her will to protect Griffith as his own sword, and Guts thought, that the sword will probably have perfect opportunity to pierce somebody's ass for hurting its swordsman.

- That girl is amazing – he grunted, tired – she'd murder me with a teaspoon if she saw us now… She… Oh fuck, you're heavier than you look… She's completely in… uh… Griffith?

Guts stopped, panting. The long silence over his shoulder disturbed him. He pinched Griffith's calf as hard, as he could, and gasped again, with a warning tune:

- …Griffith!

But Griffith remained silent, just shivering slightly from the cold. Guts cursed hideously, and raised both hands up, letting Griffith's legs free. The fine, unconscious frame subsided slowly from Guts' leaning back, and fell softly on the ground, without a single sign of life.

- Dammit! – hissed Guts again, feeling the increasing tide of panic. He elevated Griffith's torpid body upright, seating him on the rocky road in hurry, and slapped his face with the heavy blow of steel gauntlet. Griffith frowned, and raised his hands in poor gesture of self-defense.

- Wake up, sleeping beauty – growled Guts, pulling Griffith's shoulders up roughly. Although, he felt great relief.

- Easy, I'm fine – rasped Griffith, trying to stand up with Guts aid. His condition worsen a lot during the day, and Guts could do nothing with it; he was still happy, that his virtue survived this couple of hours. The wound wasn't especially big, and he managed to stem the bleeding, nevertheless it was profuse enough to injure lungs and induce infection. Griffith was terribly frail and feverish now, his face pale with dark circles under eyes and murky sight. No wonder, considering his earlier massive blood loss. Guts wondered, if he had enough vitality left to survive upcoming night. As yet, Griffith was trying his best to stand up on his own legs - he faltered, and grabbed Guts' sleeve in desperate struggle for balance. Guts smiled awry, and carefully sat him down on the ground again.

- Sure, I see you are. When did you eat last time?

- Hm… Yesterday… perhaps – said Griffith quietly, wrapping his cloak tighter around shoulders. It wasn't true. In fact he haven't eat anything for nearly two days. So much happened since then... Guts shook his head.

- Long ago. Too long. – he sat heavily on the ground beside, silently grateful for this brief moment of repose, opened his backpack, and draw a goatskin and a squished piece of bread.

- Eat. You have to, if you care for our lives in any way.

Griffith looked at the meal half-hearted.

- I'm not hungry. Thanks, but no.

Guts send him an irritated gaze, and opened the goatskin. He forced it into Griffith's hands.

- I don't fuckin' care if you are or not. You heard me; it's a matter of life and death. If you don't even try to gnaw it, be sure that you won't see next sunset, not to mention Casca hammering me for trying to kill you, so shut up and chew.

Griffith capitulated, and took a shallow sip of sour wine. Guts eyes were still focused on him, like he's worried that Griffith could expectorate everything out, if he dare to look elsewhere.

- Tell me – said Guts – why have you tried to kill me in the morning?

Griffith chewed a chewy bite of hard bread, and washed it down with another sip.

- You broke the rules, Guts. Three years ago I told you, that your life belongs to me, but two days ago you decided to leave me anyway. I put on new rules then; if you conquer me, you may go free. You conquered and left me, but this time I'm the one who breaks the rules; I won't let you go away. I must have you by my side, you're…

- Enough – growled Guts, though his face looked amused – I won't understand you anyway. Eat now, you had too long interval.

Griffith returned to the meal with an expression of great fatigue. Guts was watching him continually. "Griffith… Is it possible, that you… You consider me as…". He saw that Griffith's shoulders started to shiver more. The night was cold, and they didn't have a littlest campfire. There was no time for encamping.

- You're cold, don't you? – Griffith nodded, chewing with an effort. Guts moved closer, and embraced his shivering arms with his owns. He rubbed them, and puffed on Griffith's neck. Griffith swallowed the food, and looked at him, perplexed.

- Easy. I'm not homo, I just want to keep you alive till Windham – Guts murmured – don't cherish the hope.

* * *

Griffith finished the bread and wine about a quarter later. After the supper he looked even worse than before; he laid down on the ground, wheezing heavily and covering his midsection. He gained a morbid blushes on a pale face.

- Hmm… maybe it wasn't the best idea to give you wine now – said Guts, stretching painfully. He tried not to think about rest of the way again – anyway, alcohol is good for a fever. Think it's gonna help you.

He stand up with an effort. His legs were sore as never, but he had no choice; he must tide up all this mess Griffith started. Long ago, under the fountain.

- Get up – he bend over to offer him a hand – time to go.

Griffith grabbed his hand, but it seemed that his last strengths abandoned him. He was no longer able to stand up on his own legs, and the temperature of his hand mentioned that his fever increased greatly. Guts had to lift him, and hold his whole weight up. That wasn't way he planned. To be honest, the panic started to burn in Guts' throat again.

- Hold on – he gasped, thinking desperately, how to grab him in the most comfortable way. Now, without Griffith's help, he couldn't take him on the back again, and bearing him on hands would slow them down too much. He hesitated. There was a way they used to bear corpses of their comrades out of the battlefield… But how the living man would take it?

- We have no choice, Griffith – Guts rolled Griffith's body in hands, and thrown it over the shoulder roughly – hold on, Windham's not far – he added just in case if Griffith was still conscious. He staggered a couple of steps on numbed legs, and realized, that at least twenty kilometers was separating them from Windham. He clenched his teeth, and started to run.


End file.
